Monkshood // Yuma
It's all she can do to not both cower and marvel at the imposing young man that had barged into the apartment. And barged was an understatement when thinking back to the deafening silence that filled her new home. Olivia had come in when the place was abandoned -- lived in for sure, it seemed obvious enough that she was the last to make it to the nest -- and she had set her belongings in the room where it was presumed she would sleep with...well, her husband according to this strange place's backward laws. But she prayed to the gods that there could be a compromise drawn up. Or perhaps the person named Yuma would have been gracious enough to relinquish the bed to her completely (though, naturally, she wouldn't allow this).
However, when he finally made it home Olivia stopped dead in her tracks on her way back to the room. It's her intuition seasoned between interacting with all sorts of people and her time on the battlefield that made her tense almost instantly; she had nary a clue what it truly was, save for his sheer size and the silence being shattered instantaneously, but Olivia understood enough to know that her prayers had fell upon deaf ears.
"Uh -- " And then she cleared her throat with the back of her hand, awkwardly so. It wasn't even much of a cough either. The dancer's body grew restless as a continued lack of words ride along her train of thought, so she shifted her weight from one foot to the other as she willed something to come out of her mouth.
When she did, finally, it was murmured barely above a whisper. And as was her way she recoiled and shrunk within herself as she said it, for it sounded rather silly to her. "...W-Welcome home...?"